Page 103 of The Lord Meets His Lady
The apron’s bow brushed perfect male arse. Squared-off muscle, rounded at the bottom, flexed in concert with sinuous thighs as he left the kitchen.
“Wait. Don’t you want your dinner?” she asked.
“After I’m dressed,” he said without stopping.
She hurried through the kitchen and the small, unfurnished dining room to stop at the bottom of the stairs. Lord Bowles took the stairs two at a time, his pale bottom like sculpted white stone.
Clutching the finial, she called after him. “Please. Lord Bowles.”
He stopped at the top and faced her. The lone candle lit his tolerant smile. “What is it?”
She swallowed, unsure what to say. Today, he’d driven away the Wolfandasked her to visit neighbors as a fine lady. No, as his wife. The world spun with layers of playacting and masquerades and fast, confusing change.
Why couldn’t they carry on as they had? That at least felt constant. What changed in the scullery doorway?
“This seems like a lot of fuss…” Searching the stairs, she batted the air between them. “Why this, this strange modesty? I thought we were having fun.”
“We did, but I confess I want more. Much more.”
“I don’t understand.”
Air gusted from him, a loud and long-suffering sound. “I offer you the protection of my name and the warmth of my bed.”
“For a time,” she corrected.
His hazel stare bore into her, all traces of humor gone despite the silly apron. “If you’re adamant about seeing my bits and pieces again, you’ll have to sleep with me.”
